Till Morning Comes
by Redemmo
Summary: Jack, the newly minted Guardian of Fun, is going south to bring them his version of winter for the first time. But though you can break a snake's back, it may still bite.
1. Southern Winter

**This is a fanfiction based on the Rise of the Guardians movie, which I do not own.**

**I'm Canadian; the brief reference to temperatures is in degrees Celsius.** (Water freezes at 0°C, and a comfortable room temperature is 21°C.)

* * *

**Southern Winter**

_Can I bring winter to the south?_

The thought still skittered around Jack Frost's mind even as he tossed more snowballs to his Norwegian friends. Summer vacation in Svalbard on the last few days of April, still below freezing and no sun for at least another week.

A snowball exploded against the back of Jack's head. Asbjørn, 11, first met this year. The spirit laughed, using his staff for leverage as he flipped away from more projectiles. Ducking for cover, he crouched down, a red house to his left and a blue one on his right. His staff flopped against his shoulder as he balled some more snow in his hands.

Hearing footsteps, Jack dove back out, hitting a bundled foe in the shoulder and taking a strike to his leg in return. Anniken, 15, first met last year. Hands grabbing for snow, they ran around the street, Jack scoring as many hits as he could in the melee before diving for cover again. Despite three hundred years of bringing winter to his name, the spirit was up against snow war veterans. And they were used to fighting without the benefit of invisibility.

On the offence again, Jack got off one shot at a purple jacket. Lisbet, 9, first met last year. Then he tripped over someone ducking down to reload. Olava, 14, first met last year. Wearing a white coat was almost cheating.

Then parents were calling for dinner (hadn't they just come out from lunch?) and the merry band dissipated, waving to each other and to Jack, the winter spirit sitting with legs spread out and crescent-tipped staff held against his shoulder, the other end sunk in the snow. "Hills!" a few called out. Jack laughed and waved, remembering his promise.

As the last door closed in the patchwork of houses, the seventeen year old let out a breath, pale hands brushing snow off his frosted blue hoodie and worn brown pants. Unbothered by the breezes brushing his bare feet, Jack flopped onto his back and pointed his staff at the dark sky to start the light snow that would become the powder skiers and tobogganers loved. Then he laid his hand back down where fresh snow blended with white hair, blue eyes unfocused. Did they have toboggans in the south?

In Burgess, Jamie would be watching the last snow piles melt. Usually, the snow would already be gone. But Jack had come to an agreement with the Easter Bunny that if he cleared out his snow for the April holiday, he could have a few more days in Burgess.

'A few more days' had been stretched to a week before E. Aster Bunnymund had lifted Jack up by the hood of his sweater and literally dragged the Guardian of Fun into the Warren. The teen could have been more co-operative, but his friends' laughter at the spectacle had been worth a few days of scraped heels.

Jack was actually surprised he had gotten away with winter for that long. He suspected one or two of his fellow guardians had spoken on his behalf, but it had actually been a relief when Bunny had finally intervened. Nature had her rhythms, and each day had been a quiet struggle to keep winter in Burgess despite the march of warmth across the rest of the country.

So, hello summer resorts for winter spirits. Jack actually felt somewhat guilty about holding out on his northern friends for that extra week. But Burgess, town of birth and First Believers, would always be special.

_And my kind of snow would be special in the south._

Jack had never been south. In a word: equator.

But what was impossible for a lone winter spirit wasn't nearly as difficult for the Guardian of Fun, "Right? Old Sandy, old pal?" Jack muttered as dream sand started snaking down from the sky. Grinning, he jumped upward, dragging a hand through a golden tendril and leaping along with the shimmering dolphins that came out.

The teen knew his friend was nearby; experience had taught him to feel the difference between dream sand alone and Sandman. Of course, the older guardian almost always knew where Jack was. Rare was the day when the Guardian of Fun played with no children, and when his friends fell asleep, dream sand threads picked up on the ice magic they had been touched with.

Sure enough, Sandy was waiting for Jack. As the teen approached, the golden spirit lit up, hopping to his tiny feet and waving. A useful tactic for short, rotund people trying to get attention, but not very necessary when your method of transportation is a floating golden cloud. Laughing at the thought, Jack landed and hugged the Guardian of Dreams, the dream sand clothes soft against his skin.

Then both guardians sat down across from each other, and the game of charades began. Dream sand coalesced between the two players, Sandy starting off easy with a picture of a whale he'd seen on his way over. Jack nodded, and ice formed a polar bear he'd spotted during his morning wander. Then he added kids shoveling driveways to explain what he'd been doing out in the wilderness. Following was a small pile of snow, then a large pile with a happy face for why he'd made it snow. Blobby continents and an arrow appeared next: he'd only recently travelled over, hence why so little snow. And Sandy was silently laughing like a little golden Buddha. Jack dismissed his creations with a sigh; trying to tell even the simplest story with only images always caused him to go overboard.

They continued. An image of Bunnymund stamped out the grand snow piles Jack had left in Burgess. Spoilsport. Jack got in the snowball fight, and even managed to recreate Anniken's storm of projectiles, carefully detailing her highlighted hair to make it recognizable.

Having succeeded in that, the teen massaged his temples. Sandy made image-speak seem so easy, the smug little man's wide smile never wavering. The younger guardian cracked his knuckles in determination, and got to the question that had been nagging him for the past week. He formed a figurine of himself and a globe. Then a sun at the top of the globe and a snowflake at the bottom. Finally, an arrow appeared going from himself at the top of the world to the snowflake on the bottom. Satisfied, he looked at Sandy. Sandy looked concerned.

Jack frowned and examined his creation. According to Jamie, when it was summer north of the equator, it was winter in the south. Jack was a winter spirit, so he should go where his season was. He looked back at Sandy, confused by his concern.

Catching the look, Sandy made a new globe, with a sun swinging around the middle of it. It was hot at the equator? No shit, Sandy. It's not like I've never tried wandering down south or anything before.

Realizing that the message wasn't getting across, Sandy tried again. Five Jack figurines appeared beside the globe. The three who weren't at the poles started melting.

Jack burst out laughing. "I don't melt!" He stretched out his legs; yoga was not for him. "And I don't see what you're worried about. It's _winter_ in the south, so it makes sense for me to be there."

Sandy silently sighed, and adjusted his globe. A big line around the middle; that was the equator. Then two smaller lines above and below the equator. Jack stared at them. "Are those…the tropics?" Sandy nodded. Okay, so from what Jack remembered of Jamie's debriefing, the tropics were the equator's extended sphere of influence. Sandy made the lands outside of the tropics more prominent. Oh. That wasn't a whole lot of land in the south.

Jack tapped his staff against his shoulder. He hadn't expected there to be so little wintery land south of the equator. In fact, there might be more sub-zero northern space even at summer's peak.

Then he shook himself. He was the Guardian of Fun, not of Wintery Coverage! Even if there were only specks of winter down south, he was going to bring fun to them! "So, when can we leave?"

The sandman looked at the grin spreading over his companion, and returned it, shrugging away his globe. A whirl of gold, and the jovial spirit was goggled and sitting in the cockpit of a biplane. Jack whooped and jumped into the seat behind him, accepting his own pair of sparkling goggles. Then the cloud sand disappeared, and the journey south commenced.

An old hand at traversing the globe, Sandy settled back, millions of tiny minds calling to him. Behind him, Jack leaned forward, blinking through the borrowed goggles at his newfound vision. Wherever a child slept, tendrils of sand spun dreams above their heads, and every golden glimmer revealed itself, regardless of roofs and distance. Was this how the Guardian of Dreams saw the world?

The plane settled into a near-imperceptible angle upward and westward, keeping to the cooler air as the older guardian followed the night. Looking up, Jack saw the half-moon near the horizon – an effect of being so far north – and waved to the 'Man in Moon', MiM.

Dream sand planes travel fast. Or maybe lack of clocks and lots of dreams just make it seem so. Already, Jack could feel the south wind bringing warmth despite their height. The winter spirit focused more intently on the world below them. This was why he had asked Sandy to bring him south instead of hopping through a portal or strolling through the Warren; this was his chance to see the lands that defied winter.

Beaches spread along a coastline. And there were palm trees! Real ones, probably. The teen leaned out of his seat, staring at the groves and mansions, pools and beachfronts. He wished that Sandy would leave the night and his dreams just for a little while. Jack wanted to see everyone, doing everything, in a world that never snowed.

And the beaches kept coming. There were so many little sand and green islands in the water. Do you all have tans? More blue and white and green. Weren't they supposed to love plastic surgery? Sand, trees, water. Beach ball boobs burst bikinis. Ha. Green, white, blue. Like Jamie's new shoes. What was Jamie doing now? Dreaming? Or was he awake? Sandy was amazing, always amongst the dreams of children. Golden stingrays were flying. Flying amongst Jamie's shoes.

Sandman was shaking him. The motion caused Jack to slump back into his seat. He couldn't see Jamie's shoes anymore; when would he see his friend again? The little gold man seemed agitated, grabbing at the wet hoodie. Wet…wasn't it frozen? The teen blinked. The south wind played with his hair. The very _warm_ south wind. Jack groaned and closed his eyes, gathering ice from within himself and his staff, and refreezing his clothes in awkward positions. Great.

Hoping he hadn't missed too much, Jack started to lean towards the edge, but a concerned Sandy pushed him back again. The younger spirit crossed his arms, holding himself as straight as he could despite his neck feeling like rubber. Why couldn't his body just acknowledge that he was cold again and fix itself?

Sighing, the teen looked out to what he could see from his seat. Green, green, green, gr- were those jungles?

Jack lunged back to the edge. Sandy reached for him again, but Jack froze his body and clothes as cold as he could, even frosting the plane around him. He was _not_ missing out on his first jungles!

Breaks in the trees revealed blackness, and Jack squinted at it in confusion. Then he realized that it was a reflection of the night sky. A reflection that stretched across the land as far as Jack could see. Was this the Amazon River? The winter spirit laughed at the wind that brought summer. _You didn't stop me from seeing the Amazon River!_

The famed rainforest eventually gave way, and Jack started to see more golden dreams as towns and cities returned. He waved cheerily at them, not caring that they were asleep and likely wouldn't have seen him even if awake.

The corner of his eye caught something white. Jack started, then straightened and peered at the horizon. His excitement building even further, the spirit focused his powers on the strip of white-topped mountains. A resonance sounded within him, and he whooped. Snow! Laughing, Jack shook Sandy and pointed towards the range. A dip of the wings, and the pair were angling westward towards the peaks.

The moment he felt a cool snap of winter, Jack leapt out of the plane and dove towards the earth to roll in the snow. He stretched out his senses, feeling where snow gave way to ice and ice to rock. He focused further, searching for his north wind; Boreas, North had said it was called. And the spirit found it, winding tightly around the mountains of winter. Jack laughed again, rolling onto his back as he called snow down from the sky, watching Boreas bring it to him in flurries.

Sandy was sitting on a cloud again, grinning at the young spirit's antics. Jack took his sand goggles off and handed them back with a tight embrace.

"So," Jack said, stepping back, "You know any good cities around here?" Sandy nodded, and started off, heading up the mountain. A kick launched the winter spirit after him, and they shot over the top, thin air unable to touch them.

As they began to descend the other side, Sandy turned into a signpost. Or, at least, a dream sand version of a signpost. Golden tendrils stretched out from him, their width apparently indicating the size of the population in that direction. A very thick one was pointing south-west. Hell yes.

Calling upon Boreas, Jack sped for his destination. He left Sandy behind, and flipped over to see his friend standing on the sand cloud, waving. He waved back. "See you around, Sandy!"

* * *

The sky had turned pink. Jack spun flips and cartwheels around the tallest building he had found, waiting for the first children to come out. He was in a city called Santiago, according to the sign he'd found, a city not known for snow, according to the almost complete lack of resonance he'd found. And the rising sun was making the warm handful of degrees threaten balmy double-digits.

And, was that smog rising with the sun?

Jack grinned and rubbed his hands together. He knew how to deal with smog. Abandoning his original plan, the spirit flew straight up, past the layer of hot southern air to where Boreas could still be felt despite the distance it had travelled. "Ever had a snow day, Santiago?"

* * *

By the time the sun had crested the horizon, radios were already warning against driving. There was snow. An inch thick. In Santiago, which usually only had zero temperatures just before dawn in the dead of winter. But this was April, the fall, which saw less than half an inch of rain over the entire month.

Stunned adults stood on doorsteps, hugging themselves against an unusual north wind. Children stepped out from behind them, blinking against the brightness of a sun regularly shielded by smog, and almost never reflected by snow. Curious, they tracked a few stray flakes as they drifted, then spun, then landed on upturned faces.

Across the city, young eyes blinked, then smiled, then creased in laughter as they ran out onto the streets. Fistfuls of snow were seized and hurled with no particular shape or direction. Small figures grabbed planks and trash bin lids, throwing themselves down the slick streets of their neighbourhoods.

And in one neighbourhood, children would occasionally pause and look up. There, on those old iron steps. Was that a bank of snow, or pale skin, feet strangely left bare? An old pile of clothes, or a blue sweater rimmed with frost, or perhaps brown pants whose ankles had worn out? An iron bar might be a crescent-tipped staff. That dusting of fresh snow: a mess of white hair? And, just maybe, crystalline blue eyes reflecting a smile as they slowly blinked once, then twice, then quietly drifted shut.

* * *

**Review Questions**

I would appreciate it if you would include these questions in your review:

How interesting was the opening?  
- How far were you into the story before you were interested?

How was the physical description of Jack and Sandy?  
- (I know it wasn't necessary, but I wanted to practice)

How was Jack almost passing out?  
- Did you have to re-read it to figure out what happened?  
- Does it sound like a good description of what it feels like to pass out?

Did you find parts of this chapter slow?  
- (Especially the opening and long flight to the south)

Thank you for your help,  
Redemmo


	2. Believe

**Believe**

Burly arms tattooed NAUGHTY and NICE faced the crackling ice.

"You were passed out on streets of Santiago!"

Yetis were barely attentive to their work, tiny elves clustering near for warmth.

"I was _sleeping_!"

Large iridescent wings buzzed ceaselessly, little faeries following them left, right, and left again.

"You didn't wake up when Sandy found you!"

Little hands tucked under a chin, usual smile absent.

"I was tired!"

And, just now entering the room, green eyes took in the scene.

"Oy, ease up mates, some of us are behind the times."

Nicholas St. North's mouth twitched. Jack Frost watched warily as the man breathed in deeply. Blue eyes closed, head tilted back, barrel chest expanded. Then he breathed back out, thick white beard settling over his chest. Eyes opened again under heavy black eyebrows and fixed purposefully upon the newcomer. A smile was brought out. "Bunny!" Then the Russian had passed by the teen, and the bipedal jackrabbit was engulfed in a bear hug, long grey ears twitching behind the white head.

Jack snorted. "Father North was giving himself a heart att-" the winter spirit stopped as a hand settled on his shoulder, and looked up into Toothiana's violet eyes. The smiling Guardian of Memories hovered beside him, small body covered with green feathers fading into blue at her extremities and yellow at her neck, leaving only her face and hands uncovered. Another movement, and he looked to his left, meeting Sandy's quiet smile. Jack sighed, and flopped down onto one of the huge red chairs of Santa's lounge.

"Father North, hmm?" Stroking his beard, the Guardian of Wonder tilted his head back towards the teen.

E. Aster Bunnymund chuckled, checking his leather shoulder strap to see if the coloured egg bombs across his chest had been disrupted. "It suits you." Reassuring himself as to the lie of the twin boomerangs at his back, his eyes flicked to the youngest. "Especially when we're talking about the icicle. And d'you mind the clearing up the slip hazard, mate?"

"Jump over it, Kangaroo," Jack flipped back. The Tooth Fairy had settled on the right arm of his chair, her blue skirt of plumes draping over it, and the winter spirit firmly kept his gaze locked on the crown of feathers that grew above her face. Tall blue ones grew behind a shorter crop of green ones, one long yellow plume the centerpiece. Little green feathers continued spreading over her forehead, following the curve of her eyes and sneaking halfway down her nose. There were also little golden plumes hanging at the sides of her head like earrings. And incredibly fine pink highlights at the corners of her eyes.

Unexpectedly, blue irises met violet, and both hastily twitched away.

Running his eyes over the room, Jack spotted Sandy sitting to his left. The spirit looked back, smile holding something more than just his usual joviality. Santa and the Easter Bunny were still standing behind the teen's seat. Apparently, the pooka had been getting his debriefing, as the winter spirit could hear North's Russian accent finishing the account of dream sand urging him to Santiago where he carried an unconscious teen back through the snow globe portal. Jack winced.

As the last strains of the story finished, the two came into the lounge. Bunnymund walked between Jack and North, navy tribal patterns on his longer blue-grey fur giving way to shorter white on his stomach and feet. Jack resisted the urge to freeze the little grey cotton tail as it went by.

The frost had evaporated from the wooden floor, and bells jingled from the tips of pointy little hats as elves bore in trays of cookies, candy, and eggnog for the guests. Below, in the main workshop, industrious yetis returned to working on the toys of Wonder. Whizzes, hammers, and bells overlaid the large creatures' grumbling language, the sounds reaching the lounge from beyond the wooden handrail that North and Aster had been standing nearby.

Bunnymund claimed the large loveseat to Jack's right, spreading his arms out over the top, leather wrist guards rubbing against the red fabric. North picked the seat opposite Jack, cheerfully claiming an entire cookie platter for himself. He rested it against his belly, where the textured band of his red sweater met his baggy black sweatpants. Then he looked up across the oval table. "Tooth! Do you not need seat?"

Toothiana looked up from where she was gazing with dismay at the sweet treats Jack was collecting. "Oh, no, thank you. Your seats are too big for me." Her mini faeries chirped in agreement from where they were settled on Jack. The Tooth Fairy blinked at them, then hastily started to drink the eggnog she was holding. To her left, Sandman was happily downing his own cup.

Their host shrugged at the answer, munching on a cookie. Blue eyes settled on the large paws crossed against the table, leather straps wrapped around the middle of them. He frowned, pointedly stamping knitted socks against the floor. Aster ignored him; rabbit legs didn't comfortably bend much further.

Sighing, North took another cookie. "So, Jack!" His tone was jovial, but Jack's eyes flicked away, looking instead at the crochet patterns, vibrant toys, and even the burning fireplace behind North. The red man's smile slipped, Tooth and Sandy looking between them in concern. Then the Guardian of Wonder rallied again, rubbing his hands together. "So, you want to see the south, no? It can be done. Yes, most certainly can be done."

Surprised, Jack met the elder's eyes. North smiled, nodding his encouragement. The teen looked at him for a moment, then grinned, tucking his staff underneath his chin and leaning forward attentively. Tooth and Sandy settled back again, Bunnymund simply taking in the exchange, having missed most of the argument.

"What you need," the big man thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling, "is stretch a bit less." He considered that statement, then nodded and brought his gaze back down to meet Jack's blank look. Santa burst out laughing. "Jack! You brought full inch of snow to Santiago in one hour! Very good, but couldn't chew what you'd bitten off, no?" Father North smiled at his protégé. "Take smaller bites, and chew well."

Chin still leaning on his staff, Jack kept his gaze on North. "So…" he said, carefully drawing the word out, "can I go back now?"

North sighed.

* * *

It was a full three days before North felt the younger spirit had achieved a good grasp of the importance of not overexerting himself in hot climates. Now, Jack stood on a hill outside the front entrance of Santa's Workshop, trying not to look smug as he gazed upon the remnants of his blizzard.

North's black fur hat and ankle-length red coat, also heavily trimmed with fur, stood out amongst his white- and brown-furred yetis as they shoveled out the door. Jack had his own metal-bladed shovel stuck in the snow beside him, but he had managed to plead tired muscles. Not a hard feat; Jack's arms were about the same width as his wrists.

Dusk came, and with it a little golden man on a cloud. Jack whooped; "Australia?!" Sandman nodded, grinning at his friend's excitement. North chuckled too, black boots crunching in the snow and open coat swaying as he walked over.

The biplane appeared again, and Jack hopped in, donning his goggles. North called to him, "Remember, when you make snow-"

"Keep it slow, and let it build up."

"At night-"

"Take time to recover."

"And you come back-"

"In a week at the most to cool off."

"And you plan to follow advice?"

Jack laughed and gave a thumbs-up. "I'm not getting carried back this time, dad!"

* * *

"What happened, mates? Got lost?" Aster demanded as Jack hopped out onto the pooka's self-proclaimed homeland.

"I wanted to see something," Jack replied airily, wandering past Bunnymund to look at the sun risen over the south of the mainland.

"Kangaroos," the Easter Bunny asserted.

"Yeah…" Jack sighed. He'd known the spirit would guess it. "They don't quite look like you." Bunnymund's ear flicked, recognizing the victory. "So…when did Pitch cut your tail off?"

* * *

Flurries descended on the first week of May, surprisingly consistent for the autumn. Bunnymund sniffed at them. "Good to see you taking advice, but this is almost like you've lost your nerve, Frostbite."

Jack laughed. "_This_ is just to cool off the ground. Wait till you see tomorrow, Cottontail."

Temperatures dropped that night, Boreas gaining a firm foothold. Jack breathed in, watching the sky turn pink. Then the snow started to fall.

Bunnymund looked down from their hill. "You don't seem to have many fans here, mate," he said. People were peering out of doorways, frowning upon the thickly falling flakes piling upon the ground.

"Those are just the adults. Wait until you see the kids," Jack replied.

The adults continued to bustle around their homes, probably listening to their radio weather reports. Aster stomped his feet on the ground to improve blood flow, arms crossed for warm. Jack laughed. "You know, you'd be warmer if you were moving," he said. Then he started running down the slope, kicking off as small bundled figures hopped out onto the streets.

As expected, the children took to the snow immediately. Snowmen were already in the making as the spirit of winter blew in his charmed snowflakes to summon them to the park. Jack did a loop of the surrounding neighbourhoods; the more, the merrier! Then he swung into the central area.

Bunnymund was standing there, smirking at the teen. Cheering excitedly, the children gathered around him, the Easter Bunny not in the habit of letting himself be spotted even on his own holiday. The Guardian of Hope flattened his ears at all the attention, then perked them up again. He was on a mission.

Aster stooped down closer to his admirers. "Alright, you little ankle biters," he said, "this snow was brought by a…special friend. Think you can give him a snow war he'll remember?"

Another cheer went up, and Bunnymund stood, balling snow in his paws. Jack laughed. "Snow forts first, Cottontail! You can't have a war without a bunker!"

* * *

The two spirits called the war a draw. The younger could have scored more hits, but the pooka had been the favoured target of almost all the children in the park; the spirit known as Jack Frost was invisible to them. A few had even walked through him, his stomach twisting uncomfortably each time.

Bunnymund returned to his Warren that night even as excited children regaled their obliging parents with their tale. Snowplows cleared the solid foot of snow off the streets, Jack not bothering to replace it. According to Aster, the second term of school didn't begin until the fifteenth.

The winter spirit leaned on his staff and let out a breath. He could feel that the first week of May was not normally this cold. The south wind had been brushing up against Boreas all day, though it had been nudged back up to where it could blow harmlessly each time. Even if it did manage to descend, it would be days before enough snow was melted to bother Jack. The teen grinned and rubbed his hands together, ready for tomorrow.

The third day was for tobogganing. A light snowfall preceded the sledders, presenting a pristine hill. Laughing, they ran up, slid down, and ran up again. Soon, they discovered that the snow was shallow on the southern side of the hill, giving them easy access to the top so that they could slide back down the thickly blanketed eastern side. There, loose snow was gusted over what had been packed down by the toboggans, presenting the pristine slope anew.

The wind behaved even more strangely just north of where the sledders were staging their fun. The snow there formed circular furrows and sometimes kicked straight up, if anyone had been bothering to look.

Jack smiled as another toboggan went down the slope with a cry of joy. He spun again, dragging his toes through the snow, letting it pile up before flicking it off again. The smallest power to leave his mark upon the world around him, brought about by the belief of a few hundred children.

Then the teen sighed, looking over to the figures gathered around the hill. None of them returned his gaze. He kicked the snow again, wishing Aster hadn't left. Just someone to laugh _with_, instead of laughing by himself while everyone else laughed together.

The winter spirit snorted. He would just wait these Aussies out until they started believing in him. He had centuries of experience of being invisible and having fun. Centuries; three of them. Hundreds. Of years. Experience. He whispered it to himself, staring blankly out over the snow. Three hundred years to get one person to believe in him. What if the south didn't want to believe in him? How long would it take this time?

Tears pricked at his eyes, and Jack jerked his head back from the sensation. Swallowing, he laughed shakily. "I'm Jack Frost, Guardian of Fun," he whispered, "I won't be forgotten." He swallowed again. Tilted his head up towards the sun. Smiled. "More importantly," he said, "I'm going to have fun."

From deeper within, another laugh came, and Jack Frost spun around towards the tobogganer about to take his turn. Short and squat, he carefully lined up his ride and pushed off. He slid down the slope with a shout, the flaps of his Russian-style hat flipping back from the wind. The smooth ride picked up speed, flying straight and true. Then he hit a curved ice formation.

Yelps of surprise came from above as the blue jacket took a sharp left. Then a right back down the slope, sliding faster. Left as he hit the field. Right along the top of the lake. Then left down the bank. The other kids shouted in alarm. But the ice held on impact, and he shot across. Finally fetching up against the opposite bank, a perfectly formed snowball was dislodged. It rolled down into his hand.

A winter spirit kicked off to hunt down another tobogganer as the kid sat up, his friends running down the hill. _I am Jack Frost; want to play a game?_

* * *

Jack explored the surrounding towns and cities too, though it wasn't easy. The south wind was insisting that these places weren't meant for snow and it persisted despite the teen's counter insistence that it could buzz off for a week. Bunnymund had said that there were ski fields to the east that would welcome snow, but the spirit didn't want to go there. Ski resorts had children channel their fun only into skiing. It was when kids let their imaginations run wild…that they could start believing.

So Jack explored, bringing snow and laughter wherever he went. Occasionally, children would pause and tilt their heads, glimpsing something out of the corners of their eyes. They were catching on quickly, perhaps because it was the wrong season for a Christmas miracle, perhaps because he had a new, _solidity_ thanks to his northern believers. The thought buoyed him, and, laughing, he ducked away from the Aussies' searching looks, tempting them into games of hide-and-seek. And they played.

Then the sun was setting on the seventh day. Sprawled out in the snow, Jack watched it, Boreas playing with his hair, and eyes lingering closed before opening again. Gold appeared at the corner of his vision. Jack shook his hood off and smiled brightly at Sandy. "You know, it's going to be a while -" the plane appeared, Sandy turning his goggled face towards the teen. "…Bunny told you not to listen?" His friend smiled apologetically.

Jack sighed. He really needed to sell the other guardians on the concept that snow would keep him cool until it melted. "Just hang on for a few minutes. I want to see someone before I leave." Sandy nodded, pulling back the dream sand that brought sleep as the winter spirit kicked off towards the city of Sale.

Familiar with his destination, Jack was soon floating outside a window. Isabelle Taylor, 9, was preparing for bed. Her skin was slightly tanned, testament to her love of playing. She had persisted the most in the games of hide-and-seek, her brown eyes reminding the spirit of Jamie.

Hand against the window, Jack hesitated. He had only ever made one frost creation. Thinking back, he wasn't entirely sure how he'd done it. Maybe he should just toss a snowball instead? No, he'd wanted to give her this gift, and he would figure out a way to do it.

Iz looked up at the sound of frost crackling along her window, staring with wide eyes at the intricate patterns it made. Then the image was floating and turning towards her. _Each snowflake is unique, and this one is yours._ The blue creation broke apart, snow falling within the room. The human and the spirit laughed, eyes meeting for the first time. The white haired boy waved, and kicked away. _I'll be back, Iz, Australia. Just…not right away._

* * *

**Review Questions**

How was the pacing of the descriptions when I was introducing North, Tooth, and Bunny?

How well written was North's accent?  
- If it didn't sound right, do you have tips on how to write it?

How was Jack's momentary dip into melancholy?  
- Did it seem authentic?

Cheers,  
Redemmo


	3. Africa

**Africa**

"Dad, I was fine after a few _hours_," Jack insisted.

"Yes, but you would say so even if weren't," North pointed out.

"Would you still think I needed to recover if I dropped another blizzard on you?"

Santa laughed. "No, but you would be shoveling till arms had real muscles."

The teen groaned as Sandy's plane took off again. He still waved to the residents of the Workshop, though, despite having been stuck there for two entire days.

Dream sand planes definitely flew fast; the sun was rising in reverse. Jack grinned at the effect of flying east and leaned to the edge of his seat, waiting for the water to give way to his first view of Africa.

Actually, the first thing he saw was snow. They were passing over a mountain range, the familiar white amongst it. Jack craned his neck to keep the peaks in view, though he didn't ask Sandy to land. They were still north of the equator, and going by how the snow hid from the sun in crevasses, there wasn't much hope of a wintery city or town around.

Then there was sand. Sand waves and sand dips. Rough sand, smooth sand, sand formed into wavy lines. Was that natural?

The desert was bright, reflecting the sun back up at Jack. He tightened his grip around his staff. North had described Africa, and until he saw jungle, they were still north of the equator. If he let the heat drain his energy now, he might not be able to bring winter.

Jeeps climbed the waves. Wouldn't the sand collapse beneath them? Then a line of camels being led. They were mere specks against the eternally undulating heat and sand. Except that it wasn't eternal, some trees plunking themselves down defiantly. And, more prominently, large circles of blue and vibrant green coolly spotted the desert with no regard to the yellow protesting their existence.

Then more greenery was bullying its way into the sand. Cacti and squat shrubs and grass. And then more grass, stretching as ceaselessly as the desert had. There were giraffes, and lions, and…other stuff. It was hot. Reluctantly, Jack sat back. Sandy glanced askance, and the teen made a show of massaging his neck. It was a humid hot, trying to drench his clothes with heat. The winter spirit hadn't expected that, and he re-centered himself again before leaning out for the jungle.

Vibrant green stretched across the landscape, but Jack's eye was caught by a hill that pushed its way out of the trees, sheer lime sides rising up to where more trees grew on top of it. It must have been rock underneath the green; dirt didn't form that way.

Birds flew across his vision. Jack recognized the parrots, and there was another multi-coloured bird too, and something with a big yellow beak. He also caught glimpses of shapes moving below the canopy. And one full view of something standing in a river. It looked like a brown cow with white pinstripes. The rest of the time, though, he was straining for a better look of the creatures through the foliage.

Then the grasslands returned and Jack determinedly started scanning the landscape. Giraffes, lions – male and female, cow-things, zebras, cheetahs, elephants, some kind of dog, bunch of horse-things with horns… The teen laughed at his attempt to catalogue the animals.

The grasslands gave way to a cross between a desert and a shrub-and-cacti land. Fields of brownish sand were hedged by squat shrubs and the occasional tree.

Then they were passing over more domestic land as the descent began. Jack looked at the rock plateau they were aiming for, stretching out his senses. He couldn't feel any snow, but there were touches of moisture in the air, and the temperature hovered around freezing. The spirit grinned. Winter would not be denied here.

As the plane dissolved, Jack squeezed his friend tightly; Sandman had left his dreams unsupervised by going on this daytime tour. The little man shook in a silent chuckle, patting the younger dotingly on the head. Jack laughed at the gesture. "I think I'm going to start calling you Uncle Sandy," he said lightly. To his surprise, the older guardian grinned widely and clapped his hands together before giving Jack another embrace.

The plane reformed; it was time for the sandman to return to his children. They waved cheerfully to each other, Sandy flying westward away from the noon sun. The winter spirit tapped his staff thoughtfully against his shoulder. So, he had a protective Father North, and a doting Uncle Sandy. Bunnymund couldn't be anything other than a brother with the way they competed, and Toothiana...was very nice. Jack blinked, then laughed, kicking up to find the town of the plateau.

* * *

Sutherland welcomed him. Boreas and Jack chased away the south wind and brought thick flakes down upon the small town, residents young and old alike staring upward in awe. The winter spirit reached out to a few children with his magic, encouraging them to begin play. Then _everyone_ was joining in. The teen stared at the adults running through the few centimeters of snow. His magic didn't work on _adults_.

Some people were trying to scrape enough powder off the streets for a snowball. Jack laughed, and flew higher into the air, squeezing the south wind between the bit of Boreas he had called and the high altitudes where the north wind always blew. The south finally departed completely, and Jack breathed in the cold. But the dry remained. This was going to be tricky.

The winter spirit turned to the west. This was the wind of spring. Jack generally didn't pay much attention to it or the eastern august wind, but he usually was only concerned with cold, and not wet. West was a very mild wind, though, and Jack turned to the east. This was a temperamental wind, but a storm would do wonders here. Boreas opened a path for its cousin, letting it take the spot that the south wind had just occupied. East tried to bully its way closer to the ground, but Jack and Boreas held firm until it finally discharged its load of rain.

Whopping with delight, the Guardian of Fun dove as water froze, and the snow day began in earnest.

* * *

It was well past dusk by the time the last of Jack's friends left the snow that lay just over an inch thick. The winter spirit insisted to Sandy that he was sure he caught a few gazes looking at him amongst all of the people out on the streets. Sandy had smiled and nodded; there hadn't been enough breaks in his frien-_nephew_'s tale to do much else.

Now Jack was sprawled out on the dome of a funny building outside the town, soaking up the cold as he recovered. Grin still fixed in place, he stared up at the sky, mind whirling through the day. People standing in the middle of the street catching snowflakes on their tongues, scrambling on the ground collecting powder for their creations, slipping and sliding in an improvised snow war, tobogganing on pieces of cardboard... Jack Frost had never seen a town so delighted by snow.

_Where should I go from here?_

He could stay, nurturing his friendship with Sutherland. But his feet twitched restlessly, and his heart leapt at the thought of more snow days across Africa. He was even tempted to kick off now, North's advice be damned. But where should he go?

Jack closed his eyes and reached out his senses, only to promptly hit the barrier of his racing mind. Groaning, he got up and walked around, breathing through his mouth as he centered himself. Then he lay down again.

The winter spirit followed the winds. The south wind became more prominent as his senses stretched further. But to the south, a damp west wind mixed with it, whereas the north simply felt dry. It reminded Jack remembered of the scruffy desert he had passed on the way down. Opening his eyes, he stared at the stars. No doubt it would be easier to go south; all he had to do was shake out some of the west wind's water and freeze it. But he thought of the north, so hot and dry, and Sutherland's laughter rang in his ears.

* * *

Jack moved in the hours of the pink sky, leaping into a new town and blowing away the south wind before the sun could strengthen it. With Boreas settled, the teen funneled in the east wind, and snow would be falling as dawn broke. As he had hoped, each town greeted him with the same enthusiasm as Sutherland, and fun claimed the day.

At night, as Jack rested, Sandy visited. The older guardian was worried. Yes, it was tiring, Jack confessed, but if he was going to be limited to a week, he would make the most of it. So his uncle helped, pointing him in the direction of a northern city as well as giving directions to towns along the way.

And so the Guardian of Fun continued to hop northerly from town to town. Looking down upon his newest destination from where he wrestled with the east wind, he was surprised to see families looking back up at him. They were holding dawn vigils, waiting to see if the strange winter weather would visit them today. A new wave of cold shivered through him – actually _shivered_ – and with a burst of laughter, he kicked the snow from the skies.

The towns were small, but their energy was infectious. The teen laughed, yelped, slid, and collapsed with them. The Africans played in the snow and gawped at it. Jack played around in the snow and gawped at the Africans, their town, their food, their language…

At night, though, he felt a spark of mischievousness. As Sandy left, the winter spirit set aside resting in the interests of pranking. One town had an empty dome-shaped house frozen over in the shape of an igloo. Another would wake to find all of its sheep herded into the central square. A third had snow very carefully placed above their doors, ready to fall on the first one to open them. Jack occasionally felt pangs of regret for not sticking around to see the reactions, but by that time, winter was already in preparation above the next town.

The sixth night marked the end of his day in the city of Upington. Jack was regretting having tried to fly through the entire thing during the course of the day. In the towns, he'd been able to glance at all the sights and still have plenty of time to play, but he hadn't clued in on the fact that Upington was something like _twenty times_ their size. So he'd been left surprised when his friends suddenly started returning to their homes.

Sandy had already come by. There were other little towns scattered around. Jack pursed his lips and thought about it. He could bring winter somewhere new. He did have a bit of a headache from snowing the city, but he could do another town. But a twitch of anger accompanied the thought of leaving. He had been cheated of his chance to play! The winter spirit nodded at his own outrage. He would stay and play.

Having settled that, the teen hopped along the rooftops, wondering what to do while he waited for the sun to rise. He could play a prank. Yawning, Jack looked around for inspiration. Maybe he could freeze the cars onto their driveways, although he wouldn't be able to get most of them. Freeze the doors of the businesses shut? Freeze that donkey statue to…something?

Standing on the ground in front of the statue, Jack shook his head and breathed in the coldness of the snow to clear away his tiredness. He caught movement in the corner of his eye, and turned to see a small form skittering away. He snorted. Africa seemed to have all sorts of rodents. Then he brightened. He could frost up a big glass building!

But, flying over the city, the spirit saw a distinct lack of big glass buildings. Scowling, he floated in the air, trying to think of another idea. He tilted his head at the northern horizon. Wasn't that the scruffy desert?

Dropping back onto the rooftops, the teen trotted to the edge of the city. He grinned. What would the Africans think of their desert freezing over? A pang behind his eyes told him what the headache would think of it. Jack sighed. It would have been such a good prank, too.

Having spotted the desert, though, he felt like exploring it for a bit. His senses told him that the desert, at night at least, was cool enough to explore, and a glance at the slightly pink sky confirmed that he still had a few hours to kill. He hopped off.

Landing in a field of brown sand, Jack kicked at it. Then he bent down and took a scoopful, letting his staff rest against his shoulder. It was just like the sand of beaches he'd frozen occasionally, he was pretty sure. Though it was a bit difficult to tell as the last time he'd been to a beach, the sand had gone through his hand instead of sifting out between his fingers. He smiled at the sensation. It was coarse, unlike dream sand, and didn't want to stick to a form until Jack froze it as ball. Grinning, he looked around for a target, and chose the trunk of a squat nearby tree. The ice shattered, letting sand spew in all directions.

Jack goofed around some more, tossing sandballs, making a sandman. Or, rather, a brown Sandman. He laughed at it, wishing he could introduce the two. His crowning glory, though, was a carefully crafted steep sand hill that he slid down with a whoop.

Laughing, the winter spirit checked the sun. It was cresting the horizon, and he could feel the south wind asserting itself. Already, his sand creations were starting to slump. But he was sure that the hill, at least, would survive long enough for someone to wonder at it. He'd had to freeze every layer of that thing in order to make it.

Breathing in, Jack gripped his staff tightly, chasing his headache away again. Grin still in place, he spun around to return to Upington.

Eyes like twin solar eclipses greeted him.

* * *

**Review Questions**

Those were three chapters of mostly description. Did they start to get annoying, or did they keep lively?

Cheers,  
Redemmo


	4. Half a World Away

**Half a World Away**

Jack jerked back, defensively bringing his staff across his body.

"Why, hello, Jack Frost," came the smooth voice. The darkly golden eyes were the only colour against a grey and black countenance.

"Hey," the winter spirit replied. "Fancy meeting you here."

Hands clasped behind his back, Pitch Black started walking, moving in a circle. Jack stepped with him, staff kept at the ready.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Jack?" the boogeyman continued. Beneath soft black spikes of hair, the grey face remained focused ahead.

"Didn't expect to see you so soon," Jack said. Blue eyes stayed locked on the other. "Those Fearlings looked like they had a pretty good grip."

The darker grey of Pitch's lips twitched, but his ashen hands were still held passively. "Yes, I suppose I am unexpected. Rather like how snow is unexpected in Africa, and Australia."

Jack snorted, quitting the circling game and planting the bottom of his staff on the ground. "You missed Santiago. I covered the entire city in less than an hour." Frost crackled pointedly.

The sound was sufficient to get Pitch to turn his head towards the winter spirit. "Santiago? My, you've become accomplished, Jack Frost." His black silken-stiff robe of nightmare sand hardly moved though its flared hem brushed the ground as the boogeyman continued to circle. "I_ hope_ you've not been wearing yourself out."

Jack twisted sharply to keep the Nightmare King in view, adding another layer of frost as a ward against rising temperatures. "Been fine, thanks. Actually, no thanks. It's kind of creepy having the boogeyman worry about me. What happened? Couldn't spread fear to claim the world, so now you're going to spread concern to spook everyone?"

"Ah, clever, Jack Frost, very clever," Pitch said. His circling had brought him back between Jack and Upington. The winter spirit narrowed his eyes.

A sharp swing preceded a blue burst of ice magic. Jack laughed as Pitch stumbled backwards. "You're not looking so good, Nightmare King," he snickered as the tall figure slipped and toppled over. Frost was spreading over his chest and creeping past the robe's long v-neck. Though it was hard to tell if there was difference between cloth-sand and grey skin, considering how the thing melded into his hands.

Pitch slowly regained his footing, robe parting at the waist to reveal matching black pants. "Yes…it does seem that my reflexes have diminished." His head was down, looking at his hands as they brushed away the frost. "I suppose, that you wish me to depart."

"Well, seeing as how I'm supposed to be in the city playing with my friends right now… Yep!" Jack grinned from where he was perched atop his staff, watching the boogeyman tidying himself.

"In that case, I shall retire. But," Pitch said, reaching inside his robe to get the frost that had slipped inside, "I would appreciate it if you would join me."

Jack laughed, and retorted- was going to retort- was going to leave- was going to enjoy his last day in Africa. But there was a bottle in the Nightmare King's hands. The seal was removed, the opening pointed at Jack. And there was wind, and _heat_. Gasping and gagging on the - Hot! Hot! Hot! Backwards in the air. Spinning, tumbling, crashing. Trees, cacti, shrubs, sand. Rolling, rolling to a stop in the sand.

Panting, in the sand. His face burned. Or did the sand burn? His hand was cool. His staff. Grip the staff, focus on it. The heat beat upon his back. _Focus!_ And, slowly, ice spread again.

It took some doing, but Jack stumbled to his feet. He was surrounded by scruffy desert. Ha, scruffy. Get some respect for yourself, desert! Letting all these shrubs take over, honestly!

"Glad to see you enjoying yourself, Jack Frost." The voice came from behind. Jack stopped giggling, jerked around. Pitch. Pitch Black. Was that the direction he had come from? Wasn't there something important back there? Was it safety? He felt like he was in trouble.

Pitch was smiling at him. "You're…not looking so good, Jack Frost."

His forehead was damp. That couldn't be good. He wished the ground would stop trying to move out from beneath his feet.

A Nightmare rushed at him. Ice coursed, and he swung his staff. The black sand creature disintegrated.

Boreas was gone. It had been blown away by that bottle. Bottled south wind, bottled summer. And now summer reigned supreme around the winter spirit, in the heat of the sand, in the breeze blowing at his melted ice, in the sun continuing to rise.

"Feeling better, Jack Frost?" came the insidious voice, and Jack whirled again to face the boogeyman. He was smirking. A little piece of Winter lost in Summer, and Fear had found it.

Pitch opened his hand, and another Nightmare charged. The staff met it. A grey hand was lazily directing black sand to form another. Jack tightened his grip. His head wanted to spin.

The third Nightmare died. The fourth hit him from behind. Staggering, he frantically swung at it, and it was gone too. Pitch was circling again.

He needed cold. Needed _winter_. Jerking around to watch for Nightmares was making the spinning worse. He stopped, waiting for them to come to him. Boreas would help him.

He staggered and swung again. Looked up. Boreas was there, as always. Nudging the south, but it was strong here, and he couldn't help his wind make it down. Then he would have to go up.

Black at the corner of his eye; his staff met it. How many was that? He gripped the wood as tightly as he could, then _jumped_. Up, and up the heat stretched. Boreas called him. _A little further. Don't give up now. A little further._ His staff was cool, but his head hurt. His eyes were closed, but the ground still swayed. _Go away, summer._ He wanted to stop, hunch over, throw up. _Just a little further._ Then he was there.

Jack Frost gasped, greedily sucking in the cold air. He wanted to rest, but Boreas was too thin to lift him away.

"Enjoying the fresh air?" Of course Pitch had followed him, two Nightmares at the ready. Jack grit his teeth. Now what?

A blue spear of ice shot at Pitch. One Nightmare took the hit, disintegrating. Another appeared in its place, the grey smile remaining.

Jack scowled back. He could think now, but the only thing that came to mind was how drained he was. Boreas ruffled his hair, wanting to help. There was a spell they could cast, but how would it help?

"I find it uncomfortable here, Jack Frost," Pitch said. His hair blew with Boreas' fiercely impotent assault. "Would you care to join me back on the ground?" Jack tensed, concentrating his magic.

Dark clouds gathered as the Nightmares were loosed. Boreas, scrawny though it was, did its best to slow them. Jack couldn't call the east wind, so he formed as much snow out of his own magic as he could. Pitch snapped his wrists. The horses grew larger, pushing through the wind. The staff swung. Up, into the clouds. And the blizzard began.

Jack's mind went blank from relief as his snowflakes touched him. Or maybe he passed out from the impact of the Nightmares. Because he was falling, slipping through Boreas' thin hands. Falling, because Winter was trying to break through Summer and it _needed his help_. Falling, because he couldn't help, _not without his staff_. Falling, because Fear was laughing _as it held his staff_.

The wind was hot again. So hot it made him want to cry. A north wind blew south. A south wind blew north. It pushed him away from his blizzard. His wind was calling, promising it would keep the _signal_. But it was already so far away.

Sand. He didn't like sand. Because it reminded him of Fear laughing. Pitch _was_ laughing. Laughing and holding his staff. "Very good of you, Jack Frost, to call for help. I do hope that they arrive soon; you are looking rather-" he paused, leaning closer for inspection, "-_healthy_." The Nightmare King smiled at the flush overcoming the winter spirit's pallor.

Then Fear was gone, except it wasn't, really. And he wished it hadn't gone, because it had his staff, and he needed his staff. Because he was melting.

* * *

Some of the style I used in this chapter was inspired by _In The Silence _by Esse (fanfiction_net/s/8756198/1/)  
The '_' should be a '.' , but FF is stupid.

No particular question for this chapter, but a lot of it was new to my writing experience; did any part of it come off as weird or confusing?

Cheers,  
Redemmo


	5. First Aid

**First Aid**

E. Aster Bunnymund hurtled upward through the tunnels. His Warren welcomed Zephyr, the west breeze. All winds carried little snippets of news, and the pooka had an ear for spring's voice. And southern Africa was having a serious hot-cold identity crisis.

He burst out of the tunnel, going several feet into the air and landing on his hind legs. There was the city, snow melting unnervingly fast as the sun approached noon. "Auster, mate," Bunnymund said, "this is supposed to be Boreas' play date." But the Guardian of Hope had little affinity with the wind, and the southern breeze ignored him.

His ears flickered, catching Zephyr's quiet voice. Turning around, "Oh, hello, Boreas," a small section of sky was nearly black with clouds trying to force snowflakes through Auster.

Excited shouts came from behind Bunnymund as a few kids spotted him. Then the pooka was back on all fours and tearing towards the Kalahari Desert. Sorry, ankle biters.

Underneath the clouds, now. Aster scanned the ground for blue. Heat radiated from the sand, fur trying to stand on end in alarm. Nothing. He stood and flicked his ears again, trying to catch some of the mild west wind through the angry confrontation between north and south. _A little blue snowflake fell into Summer_. Right. South winds blow north. The pooka took off.

He searched in a zigzag pattern; Eurus, the east wind, might have blown Frostbite somewhere unexpected. A golden thread appeared before his eyes. Bunnymund looked up to see Sandy diving towards the ground. Aster raced after him.

"Ya called North, mate?" Sandman nodded vigorously, eyes wide with worry. Jack Frost lay curled at his feet.

The pooka crouched down, casting his shadow over the winter spirit's face. Unconscious, ragged breathing, skin normal – that counted as flushed for the pale teen, and damp – some of it even seemed to be sweat. The kid spasmed slightly, breath hitching and mouth moving like he was trying to throw up. Good thing he was lying on his side, or he might have started to choke.

Bunnymund shifted the younger spirit's position, straightening his spine and neck, then arranging thin arms and legs to make the position stable. Jack muttered vaguely, eyelids fluttering. Aster kept his head positioned to offer shade. It wasn't much, but the desert didn't present many options. His foot was tapping at a rapid pace. If North didn't get here soon, the Warren would be more hospitable to the winter spirit than Africa.

Finally, a portal. Nicholas leapt out of the warped space. "Tooth waiting at Workshop," he declared, wrapping Jack in his arms. Bunnymund hastily turned the teen's head back to the side. Then he stopped.

"Wait, where's the staff?" Aster swung around, hoping to see it nearby. North glanced over too, then turned back.

"I think we not find it easily. Jack didn't attack himself," the Russian said. Bunnymund snorted, knowing the truth of that statement. He gave the desert a final glare, not really looking at it, then leapt through the portal after North and Sandman.

They came out on a white hill, and Nicholas threw Jack into the snow. The teen started to choke at the impact, and Aster hastily turned him on his side again. Did the man not know basic care?

Wings buzzed over as Jack threw up. Mostly water, it looked like. "He's throwing up. That's not good. Why is he throwing up? Is he alright? What happened?"

"Tooth, Tooth, it alright. Jack is with us, and look, Bunny know what he is doing," North said, greeting the spirit with a grin and arms wide in conviction.

Toothiana took in North's posture, chewing at her fingernails. Probably because of Aster's tight face. "Is this a good idea? I take care of my faeries, when they're hurt. I wouldn't just leave them outside, and hope they got better. Maybe we should take him inside." Her faeries chirped in agreement.

North frowned, stroking his beard. "Jack is winter spirit." Bunnymund scowled.

"Look, mate. You can't just go straight from _desert_ to _glacier_ to cure _heat stroke_!"

"Guys? Guys? He's shivering." Toothiana was flitting around Jack.

Frowning, North knelt down, brushing his hand against Jack's forehead and dislodging little frozen droplets. He looked at them critically. "Maybe is too big a change, especially without staff." The big man scooped Jack up again, Bunnymund fixing the head position, and started off for the Workshop.

There was a brief holdup as they neared the doors; Boreas seemed to disagree with their decision. But they made a magical barrier and pushed through its protests, the yetis closing the doors behind them.

North lead then to a guest bedroom. The Workshop did have an infirmary, but it was customized to deal with multitudes of injured elves. Sandy swept the toys off of the bed and hugged them to his chest, eyes on Jack. They laid the teen on top of the blankets, Bunnymund carefully giving him a glass of water. The winter spirit's shivering had stopped, though his skin was still rosy. A small breath of dream sand later, and the youngest guardian settled back into the pillows, breathing deeply.

Silence settled upon the room. Uncomfortably glancing away from Jack, Toothiana looked around the room from where she was hovering by the silent fireplace. Her flickering gaze settled on North and Bunnymund. "So, what happened?"

Aster snorted from where he stood beside the bed. "What happened? Pitch dropped in for a grudge match is what happened." Arms crossed, North nodded grimly from his chair at the other end of the bed.

"And, Jack's staff?" Toothiana's hands were clasped before her.

"If it in desert, Jack will be able to find once recovered," North asserted.

"But to be honest, it's more likely Pitch walked off with it to jerk our chains. And he'll probably enjoy doing it until he gets an egg bomb to the face."

The hum of wings grew louder. "But, it could be a trap!" Her gaze twitched over to North.

"Hmm." The Russian leaned back in his chair. "Pitch most certainly has tricks. But a trap? I don't think so. My belly doesn't feel it."

Bunnymund's ear twitched as Nicholas patted said region. He could never quite trust decisions based on bowel movements. "Look, we beat Pitch just a bit over a year ago. He'd need a nuclear attack to get enough fear to take us on again."

North nodded. "And then there is method he used in this attack. Pitch doesn't have wind leaning. He was using bottles, most likely. If he needed bottle to attack Jack alone, he has not recovered."

Appreciating the logic, Aster nodded as well. "Pitch just saw a chance to snap back after we stomped him."

"But he could still be dangerous! He could have a weapon! He used wind, and maybe, maybe he's got-"

"Tooth." North was smiling kindly at her. "Calm down."

Toothiana blinked, her wings slowing. A particular shine appeared in her eyes, and her fellow guardians took a sudden interest in the decorations. The Tooth Fairy smiled, brushing at her eyes, and settled closer to the floor. "Alright," she said, and they looked back at her. "Pitch isn't careless. He'll have something planned."

"Now that is good point," North said. "Pitch will be hiding in his lair, home field advantage. Best to approach with caution."

"Cheers to that," Aster agreed. "Though I don't think he's stumbled on any more magical items. Those things were rare two hundred years ago."

"And even if he had something like more bottles," North waved his hands dismissively, "mere annoyances if no power to back them up."

Hand tucked under her chin, Toothiana considered this for a moment. "Okay, but first we have to find him. My faeries can-" she was interrupted by the sharp squeak of a rubber duck. The three looked over at Sandy, who pointed at the bed. They looked at Jack, faces blank. Then the Tooth Fairy gasped. Hand clasped over her mouth, she flitted over, staring at Jack's hair. There, at the base of the strands, white was giving way to brown.

* * *

**I am returning to university. Expect updates to be less frequent.**

**The Workshop dialogue gave me a bit of trouble. Any particular feelings on it?**

**What do you think of using 'Nicholas' instead of 'Santa'?  
**** (My vision of Santa has such a strong un-North vibe that it feels weird using it.)**

**Cheers,  
****Redemmo**


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